


Your Promised Heart

by herequeerandreadytofight



Category: Godless (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Just a Gay Ole Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 06:29:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16592600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herequeerandreadytofight/pseuds/herequeerandreadytofight
Summary: Poetry! Drama! Lesbians!





	Your Promised Heart

When Charlotte Temple had knocked on the window the day after Maggie’d pinned on her brother’s badge while he fucked off to god-knows-where, she and Whitey shared a look of mutual exasperation. He sprung to his feet as she entered, while she just waved lazily. Charlotte gave her the same tight look of disapproval she’d been giving her since she walked out of her house in her dead husband’s pants. 

 

“There is a situation. At the school house.” And her puckered frown deepened, and Maggie knew that when she said school house she wanted to say whore house, but she had restrained herself in the name of bein’ ladylike. 

Before Whitey could grab his pistol from where he’d been practicing trick shots, Maggie held out a hand. 

“Hold on there, Whitey. Why don’t I handle this one? You stay here and keep the peace.” 

He gave her a look, but sank down into the chair to keep twirling his gun around and probably daydream about Louise Hobbs. Charlotte flounced off in her hoop-skirt at least three steps ahead, and really, even when she’d worn dresses she hadn’t understood the fuss of walking around in half a covered wagon. She made sure to spit in the street just because she knew Charlotte thought it was common. As they approached the school, the situation became clear. The teacher, Callie Dunne, clutched her cheek as she sat on the porch steps, and Mrs. Doyle stood ten feet away, clutching her son’s hand. 

“Alright now, what’s goin on?” 

Mrs. Doyle looked down at the ground. Callie cleared her throat. 

Danny Doyle piped up. “Ma hit Miss Dunne cause she said I might need more lessons.” Maggie squatted next to him. 

“S that so?” 

Danny nodded so fast his little head looked like it’d fall clean off. “She said Miss Dunne was a hoore. What’s that?” 

Maggie coughed before standing up straight. “Mrs. Doyle, you cannot assault people. Especially your son’s teacher. I could lock you up.” 

“Oh, don’t do that.” Miss Dunne said from the porch. “I ain’t pressing charges.” 

Mrs. Doyle gave her a begrudging look. 

“Well, why don’t you just take your boy on home while I speak to Miss Dunne.” Mrs. Doyle swept off so quickly she left a plume of dust behind her, and after a few looks and some throat clearing, Charlotte swept off too, no doubt down to find someone who’d sit and hear her story. Maggie sat down next to her. 

“You mind if I take a look?” 

Gingerly, she moved her hand away from her face. Maggie curled her fingers under her jaw and tilted her chin toward the light. There was a near perfect imprint of Mrs. Doyle’s hand, with a gash right about where her wedding band would be. Maggie sucked in her breath. 

“Well, it ain’t pretty, but I’d say you’re going to live.” 

Miss Dunne cracked a smile. “It’s not the worst thing that’s happened at this job. Sarah Temple nearly bit my finger off.” 

“Like mother, like daughter.”

She laughed and it was nearly as musical as her voice.  _ Mary-Agnes _ , said a voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like her old school teacher, who had been twice as mean and half as pretty as Miss Dunne.  _ You cannot inflict your perversions on another woman. Besides, do you think someone like  _ her  _ would be interested in you?  _

Maggie cleared her throat and stood. “Well, if you aren’t pressin charges-” 

Miss Dunne stood too. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?” 

Well, it turned out that she didn’t have any coffee, but she had plenty of beer, and that’s how Maggie found herself sitting in what had formerly been Magdalena’s whorehouse sipping a beer at four in the afternoon as the most beautiful woman she had ever seen took out the pins from her hair and let it flow across her shoulders with a contented groan. 

“I swear, it just gets heavier as the day goes on. I wish I could wear my hair like you do.” Maggie fingered the leather band she’d been using to tie her hair away from her eyes, opened her mouth, and found she had nothing to say. Well. She wanted to tell her that she looked like a portrait of an angel her ma had kept when she was younger, and that she smelled like roses but she didn’t quite know how to form words at the moment. Miss Dunne didn’t seem to mind, combing her fingers through her hair as she sighed. “I just wish I had an adult I could discuss reading with. My husband-”  _ See? Her husband.  _ that rude inner voice hissed. “He was a professor. It used to be we’d get into all kinds of arguments about what this or that author meant.” 

“I like to read.” Maggie blurted. Miss Dunne looked at her a smile bloomed across her face. 

“Yeah?” 

“Just, you know, if you wanted someone. To read with.” 

She glided across the room, and, taking a key out from a chain between her breasts, unlocked a cabinet to withdraw a small, leather bound volume. 

“It’s poetry, by a Chinese woman.” Maggie looked at it skeptically. “It’s in English, don’t worry.” 

“Well, thank you. I’ll get this back to you shortly.” 

She looked at her and smiled, so pretty it darn near hurt to look at her. “I look forward to our discussion.” 

The advantage to having a twitterpated, love-addled boy for a deputy, is that he hardly noticed the blush flaming at her cheeks, or her running a finger along the book’s spine. Even so, she had to write up the incident for Bill, and then run home and collect the kids from sweet Mrs. Rose, and all too soon, she was snoring in her favorite armchair while the book sat, ignored, on a nearby armoire. 

It was nearly three days later by the time she got a minute to herself.  After eating dinner, and negotiating dessert (one slice of pie, each), baths (required), and a story (also required), Maggie was yawning as she lit the kerosene lamp and turned the flame low enough that it wouldn’t bother William and Trudy, snuggled under the quilt their ma had made. She hadn’t read anything sides the newspaper since she was in school herself, though she’d flipped through a dirty book that Bill had thought he’d successfully hidden. But by the time she’d made it through the first poem, she sat upright, clutching the book to her chest. She felt like she had been struck by lightning. She ran her fingers through her hair before opening the book again, re-reading the poem to make sure she had gotten it right. 

“I want to possess you completely/Your jade body/And your promised heart” Maggie murmured, feeling the words flow off her tongue. 

She barely slept a wink that night, tossing in her bed, mind alive with promise. And after she’d spent the day pouring Whitey’s burnt coffee down her throat, she was near ready to jumping out of her skin by the time the children were dismissed from school. As she strode down Main Street, her hands were shaking so much she had ‘em in her pocket. Mrs. Rose nearly bumped into her heading out of the schoolhouse, her baby on her hip and Trudy and William behind her. 

“Oh, hello, Mrs., uh, Miss McNue. Did I get my days mixed up?” 

“No, Mrs. Rose, thank you for pickin em up. I’ll see y’all at home.” 

Mrs. Rose shifted her baby up on her hip. “I heard that Mrs. Doyle near shot Miss Dunne’s head off, cause Mr. Doyle used to-” glancing at the children gathered nearby, she lowered her voice- “make use of her services.” 

“No-one had a gun. Things just got heated, that’s all. Now, if you could mind Trudy and William till I’m done for the day, I’d appreciate that.” 

Mrs Rose smiled brightly, and, extending her hand out to William who clung to Trudy, said “Come along now. You can help me stir some jam.”  

Maggie watched them leave, and the crowd of children disperse, feeling like she was about to hurl her guts out. She sucked in as much air as she possibly could before rapping lightly on the doorframe. Miss Dunne came out, looking like a goddamn sculpture. It seemed impossible that she, Maggie McNue, with dirt under her fingernails and a spot on her shirt where she’d smeared jam during breakfast that morning, would be allowed to breathe the same air as this woman. 

“Hey there, Deputy.” 

“Those poems.” Maggie swallowed. “You said they were written by a woman?” 

Miss Dunne gave her a look she didn’t know how to interpret. “Come on in.”

Maggie did. 

“You want some water? I did get some coffee from the general store after you left, but-” 

“Miss Dunne, I-” 

She turned and suddenly, she was very, very close. “Call me Callie.” 

“Callie, these poems are, uh, real good.” 

She smiled, and something about it reminded her of a rattlesnake uncoiling. “I’m glad you liked them.” 

“I liked the part about the boat. And uh, the jade.” 

“My dear, let me buy you a red painted boat/ and carry you away.” Callie whispered, with a queer look in her eyes. “That’s my favorite.” And Maggie knew for a goddamn fact that she was thousands of miles from an ocean, but she would carry a boat on her back all the way to California if that’s what Callie wanted. 

“I didn’t think women wrote poetry like that. I didn’t think they could.” 

“Women” Callie said firmly “can do whatever they goddamn well please.” And as if to prove it, she inched half a step closer, until her face was tilted up towards Maggie’s. 

It took every single bit of courage she had ever felt, but Maggie leaned down and put a hand on her waist. Rather than jumping back or slapping her or calling her some kinda pervert, blessedly, happily, Callie cupped her face in her hand and kissed her so thoroughly, Maggie thought she felt her feet leave the floor. Careful not to brush against the bruise on her cheek, Maggie smiled into it and tangled her fingers into her hair. Sunlight streamed around them, and Maggie couldn’t think of a single place she’d rather be. 

* * *

 

“What are you smiling about?” Callie whispered, accent thickened by sleep. 

“Just thinkin about the first time you kissed me.” 

Callie smiled then herself, and wrapped her arms around Maggie a little tighter before planting a kiss on Maggie’s jaw. 

“Did you know,” Callie mused  “That’s the first time I ever felt right since I got to La Belle. Like everything was just the way it should be.” 

Maggie buried her face in Callie’s hair as her, well, her Callie dozed back off, and watched the sun rise and bathe them both in golden light. 

**Author's Note:**

> The poem & title comes from Wu Tsao https://theinkbrain.wordpress.com/2011/10/29/wu-tsao-three-sapphic-poems/


End file.
